Pompeia Clacher [D2] (trajan) wrote in colosseum, @ 2014-04-18 22:04:00 |
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Fuck. Pompeia swore she passed by these vines before, except she had picked one of them clean. It wasn't motivated by wits or forward thinking, to have it serve as a marker. She was hungry, so she ate some. Since she didn't convulse and die on the spot, she stuffed some in her purse, and she ate some more. But among the grapes, her search of the vineyards was fruitless. Without a blanket over her head, and without the floor of the Cornucopia, she had woken up in the dew. Since arriving at Alto, the only living being she had encountered was some rabbit emerging after the storm. Much to her chagrin and embarrassment, she wasn't fast enough for it. Hell, she threw that weird metal thing she found at it, and lost both that and the rabbit. Getting bested by a rabbit didn't deter her. It was embarrassing, but she would make it up by finding Shad and Shimmer. For a while, she just stood there, staring up at the sky. Maybe she could see a glimpse of a parachute and follow that. Or maybe the Gamemakers would send a sign. She was willing looking. She wanted to win. She even tried some of the coffee crop. Without knowing what it was, she looked incredibly alarmed at the loud crack her teeth made when she bit down on the seed of the peaberry. She spat it out and vowed to stick with grapes. When she neared a bridge again, she hesitated. Her bag was filled up. She hadn't found anyone after looking the whole day. Maybe if she crossed, maybe she'd finally get some sort of guidance. Maybe others had crossed too. The bridge was long, but she didn't stop. Even though there was certain death on either side, it was still an easier walk than the rest of the arena. She only paused for water and more grapes when she reached solid ground. She sat on a rock, staring into the mist. It wasn't quite like home, but it was familiar. It was close enough, maybe. She was less tired than she could've been, an effect of growing up in the mountains. She pulled her loose hair to one side, having trying to let it dry. Her hand traced the rock beside her as she tried to remember what it was. What they tell her about it? She gave it a kick with the heel of her shoe. How soft, how easily it could be cut. Even then, she didn't even consider how her life or the past few weeks could've been if she'd gone with masonry like her mother and her brother. This was what she wanted to do. Even with the wound she disliked bumping, and the scratches on her legs she was aware of when something brushed against them, she kept telling herself that she wouldn't trade this. Shit, this looked familiar. Even after the storm softened the ground, scattered leaves and branches and stones, she knew this. Even in the light offered by the moon, obscured by the cloud cover. "Shit." She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, she pinched the bridge of her nose. Nope, it wasn't a horrible dream or illusion. She stared at the Cornucopia, her fingers laced and placed on the top of her head. Her hand went to her sword to be ready in case she came across anything as she approached the mouth. Only coins remained in the Cornucopia. Through their days spent there, they had burned through the chests, unstuffed the chairs, burned what they could, threw out the rest. Rocks that had surrounded their campfire had been kicked to scatter them, and the storm moved them further. The rain left much of the velvet flooring soaked, creating a foul, damp smell. It wasn't so much different from the smell Pompeia knew was coming off her. It reminded her of the smell of the remaining bottles filled with rainwater. And she knew that when she gingerly took off her makeshift compress, she would smell the same coming off the mutt wounds. Only an idiot would settle in the back of the Cornucopia, right? Cornered, no way out, with only coins for weapons and company. It was probably also dumb to take off one's shoes. So she headed inside, near the back, hoping everyone else would think the same and not bother to look. She knew she looked stupid sleeping on coins, but it wasn't so much different from sleeping on jagged rocks. The mist had left them with as much moisture, but the roof of the Cornucopia gave her some shelter. She'd try again in the morning. |